Here Be Dragons: Restroom Adventures Abroad

During my recent history as a globe-trotter, I've learned a few universal truths:

1.) Dress conservatively in black and you can go anywhere.

2.) Food costs near tourist attractions are roughly the same amount as your mortgage. And about as tasty to chew on.

3.) Learning (and correctly using) a few words in the native language will almost always get you much better service.

But when it comes to restrooms, well on those fold-out guidebook tourist maps, this area should be marked "Here be dragons," because you just never know ...

Europe of course is the home of the "pee for a fee" public facility. Sometimes the toilet is an attraction in and of itself. Heck, I'd pay 2 euros just to see this fancy loo at the Louvre in Paris.

However, I did battle with my one-eyed monster for free last week in a restroom in a cute, modern, clean little sandwich shop in Padua. Yes, I am talking about the dreaded Turkish toilet. Toilet is a bit of a misnomer because, ummmmm, there wasn't one. (Sorry, I did not take a picture. I was just too freaked out.)

I had heard of these before. I had even glimpsed one in a century-old Parisian bistro, where it just seemed a quaint anachronism that I could laugh off while I held my business until I got back to my hotel room.

I'm three years older. I had been holding it all the train ride from Venice. My hotel was no where close. I wasn't laughing anymore.

A 50-year-old bladder will not be denied.

Just down the street from this restroom was the basilica of St. Anthony, patron saint of lost objects that must be found. I sent up a hasty prayer that he might find the obviously missing toilet for me. Either St. Anthony was answering legitimate requests that day, or being Italian, he was just laughing at the clueless American tourist.

My bladder was screeching at me to do something before it took action for me.

I won't fill you in on the gory details. It wasn't pretty. Let's just say for women, the process is not intuitive. And, surprisingly, while menus here are written in three languages there are no instructions (even those with universal symbols) to help you out. You are totally on your own. Sure wish I'd read this first.

Now I know why so many Italian women wear skirts; but I've got to wonder how they keep those expensive leather shoes so clean.

(And, yes, I did want to go back to my hotel room and curl up in the fetal position!)